It tried to fire the gun again—but it was out of bullets.
With a snarl, it threw the weapon aside and crouched to strike from below, treacherously.
The claw passed so close to my eyes I could see the blood staining its curved nails.
Animal blood.
Wild animal blood.
My arms moved on instinct. I blocked the claws, struck its wrists, forced it back. I kept my chin down to protect my throat.
I wouldn’t let it enter the living room.
I wouldn’t let it reach the stairs.
I wouldn’t let it get near my children.
Thinking about them—about my family—gave me the strength my instincts had denied me.
I caught the monster’s left wrist in midair and twisted its arm until it bent behind its back in a painful lock, forcing it face-first onto the floor.
The stench pouring off its body made me dizzy
